


What We Had

by Fyre



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:42:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, the Hamiltons and James McGraw were happy together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Had

**Author's Note:**

> It will never stop breaking my heart how much James/Thomas's relationship broke Miranda's heart. She loved them both so much, and yet while they cared for her, neither of them loved her half so much as they loved one another. But still, I maintain that this incident had to have happened at least once.

James was proud of the fact he could handle his drink.

He seldom found himself rendered insensible, especially not when in the company of his peers, but dinner had been an amiable affair, and the wine had flowed freely. 

It was, unfortunately, making him a little unsteady on his feet. The urge to undo his cravat and unbutton his shirt was growing. He wanted to be comfortable, damn it, but if he was to set out for his lodgings, he knew there was no point of getting down to shirt-sleeves. 

“I ought to go,” he said, not for the first time.

They were in the drawing room, he, Miranda and Thomas. The servants were elsewhere. Goodness only knew. He was lolling on the couch, one arm draped along the back, and Miranda had the chair opposite. She was smiling, fingering her necklace. And Thomas…

Thomas was magnificently sober, standing before the mantle, reciting a poem that sounded fine in the Latin, but James had a suspicion it was more than a little filthy if translated. 

“You can’t go,” Thomas cut himself off mid-flow. “The evening has scarcely begun.”

James cast a look over at the grandfather clock. “My Lord, it is well upon the stroke of eleven. If I am not returned by midnight, the doors of my lodgings will be locked against me.”

“Then you must simply stay here.” Miranda slanted a look at him from beneath her lashes, then looked to Thomas. “He would be most welcome, would he not?”

Thomas could play the gentlemen from dusk til dawn, but one thing he could not do was hide the heat in his eyes when he was thinking of matters of the flesh. His tongue darted along his lower lip. “I should think so, my dear.” 

He crossed the floor in two quick steps and swooped so quickly that James scarcely had the chance to catch a breath before Thomas’s mouth was opening over his. Thomas’s tongue teased against his, and James had to grasp his arm, to remind himself that it was real.

No matter how many times Thomas kissed him so, his heart still beat faster, especially knowing that Miranda was there, watching them.

“Will you stay, Lieutenant?” Thomas breathed, searching his eyes when they broke apart. “Will you spend the night with us?”

Through the haze of wine and good company and good food, something caught in James’s mind. “…us?”

As one, he and Thomas looked over at Miranda, then James looked back at Thomas. Surely he was not suggesting that he… that they… God above…

He sat upright on the couch and swallowed hard.

“You ask to much of our Lieutenant,” Miranda said quietly.

Thomas retreated a step, then another, until he was at Miranda’s side. “Your pardon, James. I had not meant to scandalise you.”

James rubbed his palms together. “I think we are many weeks past that, my Lord.” He shook his head. “I did not- I had not imagined-”

“That we would both desire you?” Thomas looked fondly down at his wife. “I believe we have made that quiet clear.”

James’s head was spinning. It was true that he had been Miranda’s lover long before Thomas had invited him into his bed, but to lie with both of them at once was something he had only imagined in the most secret and quietest parts of the night.

Miranda met his eyes, then looked away. Still, she raised her hand to cover Thomas’s fingers on her shoulder. They touched with such casual intimacy. James had always noticed it, envied it even, but he knew now why Miranda sought other lovers and why she and Thomas seldom shared a bed. 

James’s mouth felt dry and he swallowed again.

He was already damned twice over: an adulterer and a sodomite.

What matter if he sinned again, when it was offered to him by those who loved him?

He rose with as much dignity as he could muster when his world was soft and warm about the edges. He could see the guarded expression on Miranda’s face, the hope - always so hopeful - on Thomas’s as he approached them.

He offered Miranda his hand, and could see her surprise when she rose, laying her fingers in his. He bowed over them, touching his lips softly to her knuckles, then turned her hand over and kissed her palm. Her breath hitched, and he knew she must have been feeling neglected since Thomas had stolen him away.

When he turned his attention back to Thomas, Thomas was smiling as if he had received every gift he had ever hoped for.

“Where?” James managed to ask.

“My room,” Miranda said at once, curling her fingers around his. “I have the largest bed.”

They were all reeling, giggling like school children as they hurried along the halls, hushing one another urgently when they came to a junction in the corridors. 

As they neared the room, James stole a kiss from Miranda’s whose face lit up at once. She caught Thomas by the arm, pulling him back and kissed him too, and all at once, James found lips on his again, and another pair at his throat, and his legs shaking beneath him.

“The bedroom,” he panted.

Thomas made a sound of protest, but they continued along, shoving the door open and cascading into the room in a tumble of limbs and silks and linens. The key turned in the lock behind James, and his heart was racing as he looked to Miranda. Her eyes were glinting by the candlelight, and she approached him, claiming his lips with her own. 

Her waist was so narrow between his hands, and his fingers moved nimbly to the laces of her gown, but he was distracted too easily when Thomas pressed to his back and Thomas’s mouth settled just beneath his jaw. Broad hands splayed on his waistcoat, loosening the buttons one by one.

He felt Miranda’s laugh against his lips, as her fingers tugged at his cravat.

“Poor James,” she murmured, drawing back to watch him, as she bared his throat to her husband. “Outnumbered.”

He was going to reply. He intended to. Might even have succeeded if Thomas hadn’t placed a delicious, stinging bite to the side of his throat that made him arch his neck and whine demandingly for more. 

His cravat fell from Miranda’s hand and she threaded her fingers into his hair, drawing his mouth back to hers. He felt the brush of her other arm over his shoulder. Touching Thomas, he realised, his hands fumbling with her stays. A stifled moan caught in his throat, and a tug pulled the stays loose. 

Between them, Thomas’s hands were making fast work of James’s waistcoat, and long fingers curled into his shirt, dragging it free from his breeches. James shuddered as that same hand slipped between fabric and flesh, spreading low on his belly. His head fell back against Thomas’s shoulder, his hands made clumsy on Miranda’s dress.

She laughed softly, stepping back a little way to shake the gown from her shoulders and push it down until she was standing in a pool of heavy silk, her shift doing little to hide the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs or the rosy tips of her breasts.

“W-wait,” James panted. He forced himself to catch Thomas’s hands, hold them still in their wanderings. “This is hardly fair, my Lord.”

“James-” Thomas laughed half-heartedly. 

“No,” James panted. He turned to face Thomas, Miranda coming to his side. “We are here in our under things, and you fully-dressed? No, my Lord. I shall not stand for it.”

“Nor I, Thomas,” Miranda purred.

Thomas’s looked resplendent with pleasure and spread his arms. “Well then, you fiends, have at me.”

James shot a sidelong look at Miranda, who offered him her feline smile. “You are better acquainted with breeches and stockings, Lieutenant. I shall subdue the rogue’s cravat. He never did learn to tie it well.”

They moved was one and Thomas was crowded back against the door. James went to the knee before him, and felt his colour rise as he did so. He could well recall the first time Thomas had done such a thing to him. He had damn near fainted from lust. If his fingers trembled as he unbuttoned the breeches, it was only because this had not yet been his place even when they had been alone.

Thomas’s fingers twined into James’s hair, pulling loose the ribbon holding it back, and James had to catch his breath as he dragged Thomas’s breeches down. His pale shirt clung to both thighs and manhood, and James wet his lips before leaning in and decisively pressing his mouth to the pale silk.

Thomas gave a great stifled cry, his hips twitching, and James wanted desperately to hear that sound once more. Uncaring of if he was in Miranda’s path, he pushed up the pale silk to bare Thomas to him. He was wanton, their Lord, and when James put his mouth to him, Thomas swore so beautifully that Miranda giggled.

“Thomas!” she chastised. “Such language.”

“I- for-forgive me…” 

James looked up to see Thomas staring down at him, flushed and breathing hard. It had seemed an unnatural act before, but to see the hunger and the need in Thomas’s face was enough to put all shame aside.

A second hand joined Thomas’s in James’s hair, guiding him, encouraging him. Miranda. And it was she who curled her fingers tight, pulling him back, strands of saliva clinging between his lips and Thomas’s manhood.

“Miranda!” Thomas protested, leaning heavily against the door.

“Would you have us go neglected?” Miranda inquired. 

She tugged gently on James’s hair, encouraging him to rise, and pressed her mouth to his. James could still taste Thomas on his tongue, and she lapped at his mouth, suckling, as if to claim some of it for herself. He pulled her closer, pulling at her shift, dragging it up until they had to break apart so he could draw it over her head, leaving her bare but for her stockings.

She smiled at him as her hair broke free of its pins, coiling on her shoulders. To be bare, she always said, was as God had intended before shame entered the Garden. She reached for his shirt, dispatching it as promptly as he had hers. Her fingers spread briefly on his chest, then she inclined her head towards Thomas, still leaning against the door, watching them raptly.

“Take his mouth, darling,” she murmured.

James was more than happy to oblige, reaching out to grasp Thomas’s arm and pull him closer. Their mouths opened to one another by instinct, tongues darting against one another, their breathing stilted against one another. He tugged at the buttons of Thomas’s waistcoat and felt Miranda’s hands join him, pulling the waistcoat aside, and then the shirt also.

When Thomas groaned again, James couldn’t be sure if it was his own hand upon Thomas’s breast, or the slender hand that had slipped between them, stroking at Thomas and brushing the front of James’s own breeches.

“To the bed?” She was breathing as hard as they were. 

“The bed,” James agreed hoarsely, though he could scarcely imagine how they might arrange themselves.

“Yes… yes,” Thomas murmured dazedly. 

They didn’t quite break apart, then, but Miranda circled back about to divide James’s kisses between herself and Thomas, until James could not be sure where one ended and the other began. 

Somehow, somehow, they were steering him backwards, and Miranda’s hands were at his breeches, undoing them, and Thomas’s hand was sliding beneath them to stroke along the curve of his backside, and lips were on his and off and his breath was stolen entirely away.

The edge of the bed, knocked against the back of his legs, and only the hands holding him kept him from falling back at once. Miranda was straddling one of his thighs, and Thomas was watching them both with a hunger that made James’s heart skip a beat.

“How-?” he started to ask, then faltered, because Miranda’s hands were pushing his breeches down completely, and he was bare before them both. Habit almost made him cover himself, but she smiled, and Thomas kissed him.

“Take her,” Thomas whispered against his lips.

Somehow, despite the many times he had lain with Miranda, it felt much more wicked to have Thomas draw him back, to have Miranda to crawl on the bed before them, laying herself down on the covers, her hair a tangle of dark curls around her.

God above, she looked beautiful, and James could recall for a moment why he had found himself drawn to her.

She ran her hand down her belly, parting the curls between her legs and stroking herself with her fingers. James caught his breath, and a moan hitched in his throat as Thomas pressed to his back again, and long, smooth fingers caressed him.

“We would have you between us,” Thomas murmured. “Take her, and I shall take you.”

James was amazed his legs could hold him. He turned his head to look up at Thomas, who smiled then kissed him slowly. His hand was still moving, and for a heartbeat, James almost forgot all about the woman on the bed.

Slender fingers closed around Thomas’s on James’s manhood, and he swayed between their combined touches, his mind whirling. Thomas released him, guiding him instead, down onto the bed, to Miranda who leaned up to claim his lips. James leaned into her at once, running his hands over her bared flesh, turned golden and radiant by candlelight.

She smiled at him, caressing his cheek, and he kissed her palm as she drew him down over her, her legs spreading for him. Her mouth was hot and eager against his, and her arms slipped over his shoulder, drawing him down, crushing her breasts to his chest. He shuddered with want as his manhood rubbed against her, and again when Thomas traced his fingers in a curving stroke from James’s nape to the base of his back.

“Good,” she breathed, arching against him and pushing him deep, just as Thomas drew his fingers over James’s backside. 

James panted, bracing his hands on either side of her head. It took barely any movement to rock against her, watching the way her eyes rolled up and she smiled, tongue visible between her parted lips. Her nails bit into his shoulders, and he leaned down to kiss her throat, his lips faltering when another pair of lips brushed the base of his back, making his hips jerk against hers.

“Jesus…” he panted, fighting the urge to press back to Thomas’s mouth. He felt Thomas’s hands on his sides, then they slid away, onto Miranda’s thighs, drawing her legs up, and then he was leaning over both of them, framing James’s arms with his own.

His hardness pressed against James’s arse, and James was torn, rocking between them both, pushing harder and deeper into Miranda, but desperately wanting and needing that fullness that only Thomas could give him.

Thomas nuzzled at his jaw line, then breathlessly claimed a kiss from Miranda. “Hold fast, my dear,” he murmured.

James didn’t know which of them he was talking to. He didn’t much care a moment later, because Thomas pushed deep into him, driving him down harder against Miranda, and James could swear he saw stars, his arms folding down onto the pillows, his face pressed into her throat.

Miranda laughed, her fingers in his hair, and he felt every inch of Thomas plastered over his back, leaning down to kiss his wife. The most he could do was remember to breathe, kneading at the pillows, and pressing kisses under her jaw. 

Thomas put one hand to James’s hip, caressing him, and for a moment, all was stillness.

The moment James started to catch his breath, though, Thomas knew and was his usual wicked self. As soon as James was recovering, Thomas began to move, and in so doing, moving James. James was to caught up in the sensations to think to protest, his mouth clumsy on Miranda’s, his body pushing harder and deeper to hers. Her legs were about them both and she was breathing as hard as they.

The bed shuddered beneath them, the posts creaking, the mattress shifting.

“Fuck!” James gasped out, nails in his back, hand bruising his hip, heat in and all around him. His head was spinning and he tilted his head, tried to catch Thomas’s panting lips, felt Miranda’s mouth at his throat. Biting. Marking. Thomas’s breath against his. Thighs tight around both of them. Her voice rising. Higher. Breathless. Body slick. Panting. Blood rushing. Panting, harder, there…

He crumbled, spent, on her, but Thomas kept moving, and she held them both fast, her fingers in Thomas’s hair as well as James’s. They were moving, moving, moving. Slower now, breathing harder, slower, and slick with sweat and seed and finally panting and breathless and still.

One of Thomas’s hands covered James’s on the pillow. James, his face buried in Miranda’s throat, unfurled his fingers and let Thomas thread his fingers between them. He could feel Miranda’s fingers stroking in his hair, trembling.

They would have to move in a moment, he knew, but now, he simply wanted to be held between them, feeling the rapid beat of their hearts against his chest and his back.

In the quiet, he knew they both heard Thomas’s whisper, “My loves…”


End file.
